Rag Tag Bondsmen
by Dream Caste
Summary: Introduction to a series of stories surrounding the game Mechcommander, in particular the league Solaris 7
1. Hitting Rock Bottom

HITTING ROCK BOTTOM  
  
  
I can remember the first time I saw a mechwarrior.I was standing at the edge of a scarred battle field.  
  
Smoke trailed lazily across the empty meadow blocking out the violence that had fallen silent moments before. Around me trees cracked with the heat of spent weapons. At my feet a single flower dipped in the quiet breeze.  
  
Lifting my eyes from that silent symbol of peace and rest I was greeted by the devastation of a meeting of enemies, the actions of violent men, the life of Solaris 7.  
  
Standing among the trails of smoke was a lone Commando, its vents still spilling the heat of battle. Its smallness belied the death that waited among its weapons.  
  
My lungs filled with the choking arid stench of super heated air and melting metal. With watering eyes I watched its brave rider climb from the ravaged mech. Silence fell like a blanket over the field as he stumbled to the ground. Wiping my eyes I edged forward to see his face. I could not.  
  
But as he reached to his helmet and drew it from his head, my breath caught up in my lungs. Raising his helmet to the sky I heard him scream his victory cry. So small among the massive mechs that lay strewn about him. And at that moment the world erupted with the cheering of spectators. The thundering crowd, the arrogant fighter, the burning air, my choking lungs.  
  
I wanted to be that man.  
  
For what has seemed like a lifetime I have fought to be the man I once saw on the battle-field. Yet, each day I find myself drifting further from that goal. When poised for the kill, my hand waits a second too long. When I should be leaping beyond the reach of my opponents weapons I am again caught up in the beauty of it racing toward me. My ears catch the screaming of the approaching missles and I almost want to hear them tearing though the metal that surrounds me.  
  
Why do I wait? Why can't I stop this fascination with the fight? Why can't I be that man?  
  
My son saw me fighting today, he said he wants to be just like me...  
  
From the pages of the journal of Dream_Caste; RTB  
  



	2. Funny How Life Works

FUNNY HOW LIFE WORKS  
  
  
Only moments after finishing my last entry I was shaken from my reverie. My intercom was bellowing, I had been issued a challenge.  
  
FM_Men_Shen had brought his heavily armed Raven to the forest outside the hangar. His ECM was blocking our radar but his radio message was clear. He wanted a fight now and for cash. It seems Team Chaos was letting him manage a personal bank account now and the account was running thin.  
  
He had heard there was a soft touch hiding in the Rag Tag hangar and he wanted a bite of the deflating stable.  
  
Shaken by the brazen challenge I stumbled about the room trying to compose myself. My eyes feel to my nervous hands, callaused with the work of tools used to repair my ever failing mechs. Self doubt raked my soul. What mech should I ride? What would be waiting for me in the forest? From where would the first volley come from? Would I hesitate again?  
  
Commanding my heart to be still I started for the open Holly on the far side of the hangar. I had won my few victories in that thick skinned predator. Perhaps it would bring me home again. As I mounted the steps to reach my cockpit a small voice reached up from the ground below.  
  
"Dad, can I watch today?" There standing at the foot of my metal giant stood the brave outline of my little son.  
  
"How much is the bet Dad?" His shining eyes gleamed with excitement.  
  
"Ahh, ten son, 10 RP..." My racing heart slowed as I watched his eyes count through his pudgy fingers. As he reached his last little finger a small coin bounced onto the floor.  
  
"How about 10 RP and my nickel Dad, the one Grandpa gave me." He was so hopeful, so trusting, he was so sure his Dad would win.  
  
"Are you sure son, that is a lot of cash for one day."  
  
His little hand opened again and he didn't say a word...  
  
  
  
So the bet was for 10 RP and a five cent coin.  
  
The mech roared to life and my son plugged his ears like I taught him. I stopped outside the hangar and spun my mech to salute my new sponsor.  
  
The shinning, brand new Firestarter blazed in the afternoon sun. The little man had asked to see me leap the trees on the bluff beyond the open grounds and my Holly didn't have the jets ready.  
  
So with my untried mech and the trust of my only son I plunged into the darkness that filled my radar screen.  
  
  
  
Twenty minutes later I limped back into the open grounds. The steam and smoke rising in a cloud above my mech. The new paint pealing, the guns empty, the scarred metal trembling in fatigue.  
And there stood my little boy, waiting on the tarmac before the hangar. His little hand open and empty. As I fumbled with the cockpit release I could hear him telling one of the techs that his Dad had just ripped a hole bigger than his house in a Raven. His tiny voice sounding so proud.  
  
When I reached the ground he was there to greet me.  
  
"Dad, I saw you win."  
  
"You owe me ten cents."  
  
Dream Caste; RTB  
  



End file.
